


Second Saturday of the Month

by SusanMM



Series: Urban Folklore [3]
Category: Gargoyles (TV)
Genre: Fantasy, Filk, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanMM/pseuds/SusanMM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lexington is wounded, the gargoyles don't dare take him to a human hospital. Can Brooklyn's vet friend save his life? A sequel to "Urban Folklore" and "House Call" -- warning, this is a Mary Sue and the third in the Urban Folklore series starring Julie Heyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Traditional Key of Off

**Author's Note:**  Originally published in Compadres #31, from Neon RainBow Press. Based on characters and situations from the Disney cartoon series, only a smidgen of which has been released on DVD, dog-gone it. Standard fanfic disclaimer that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: these aren't my characters (except for the obvious Mary Sue and the filkers). I'm just borrowing them for, um, typing practice. Yeah, that's it, typing practice. All Disney-owned characters will be returned, suitably bandaged. Bits and pieces of assorted filk songs quoted here are small enough quotations to sneak in under the fair usage rules. This is the third story in the Dr. Juliet Heyes series; you might want to read "Urban Folklore" and "House Call" first.

**Second Saturday of the Month**

By Susan M. M.

a  _Gargoyles_  story for Compadres #31 -- a sequel to "Urban Folklore" and "House Call"

* * *

"Carmen Miranda's ghost is haunting Space Station 3,

Not that we're complaining, since the fresh fruit all comes free.

But now and then we wonder, what it means to the human race,

That ghosts from generations past are taking off to space!"

"Your turn, Michelle," Julie Heyes, a slender blonde in her mid-twenties, announced.

"No pizza songs," Zachary begged. Michelle Nesbitt was notorious in local filk circles for her love of pizza songs: songs so long that you could send out for pizza, have it delivered, and finish eating before the end of the song.

"It's my turn and I'll pick what I want to," retorted the redhead. "Just a second." She thumbed through her filkbooks, looking for a good song.

"Um, Julie, there's a gargoyle outside your window."

Julie had heard something – or someone – land on her fire escape two songs ago, but hadn't said anything. Her relationship with the gargoyles was still very tenuous, and she didn't want to frighten them by pushing too hard. "Don't be silly," she scoffed. "Gargoyles are nothing but urban folklore."

"That's not what you said on TV two months ago."

"You can't believe anything you see or hear on 'Mad' Madison's show." Julie ignored the fact she'd claimed on Madison Fleming's public access show that gargoyles were real, sentient, and friendly. That was before she met gargoyles and learned the truth: that they were real, sentient, and friendly in a human world that could be very unfriendly to 'monsters' and 'beasts'.

"If there's a gargoyle outside, it's my turn. And if there's not a gargoyle, it's still my turn," Michelle said. " 'Barrett's Privateers'. Page 16 of  _Fogarty's Cove."_

"What page is that in  _Rise Up Singing_?"

Karen Jensen checked the index. "One ninety-nine."

Filkers thumbed through songbooks, trying to find the correct page.

Chrissy Black scooted over to Julie. "There really is a gargoyle on the fire escape," she whispered.

Julie whispered back, "It's an open filk. Anyone who wants to attend, can. Even urban myths."

Outside, Brooklyn listened in amazement as Julie, who'd never said anything strong than 'dog-gone' in his presence, sang along enthusiastically with the blasphemous chorus of Stan Rogers' 'Barrett's Privateers.'

* * *

 

 

"Ladyhawke, Ladyhawke, fly bravely on,

Wings spread at each morning's light,

Ladyhawke, Ladyhawke, from dusk to dawn,

Teach me the magic of flight."

"Um, Julie, you remember that urban myth that was on your fire escape last month?" Zack Sinclair asked quietly.

Julie nodded.

"Well, he's back this month."

"Small and green, medium and red, or large and blue?" Julie asked nonchalantly as she tuned her dulcimer.

"Uh, red, man-sized," Zack replied.

"Can't be," Julie shook her head. "The small green one sings off-key. The medium red one sings on-key. Why would anyone who sings on-key come to a filk?"

From outside the window came the sound of laughter, followed by the whoosh of wings.

"Darn," she murmured. "Maybe next month."

"Trying to attractive new blood?" Michelle asked.

Julie nodded. "New blood who would prefer to avoid being in the  _National Inquirer_. Speaking of new blood, how about 'Baby Vampire Boogie'?

"Oh, I was born a vampire, when my mother she was bitten,

And she seemed so relieved when I blood-drained my first kitten.

When she tried to nurse me, well, it got a little nippy,

So she used a formula of cow's blood mixed with Skippy."

"With a flap of leather wings," she made the hand gestures,

"I am a fly by night, I am a fly by night, and you can be one, too."


	2. Julie, We Need You.  Lex Is Hurt.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets shatter when Lexington needs Julie's help. Unfortunately, vet school didn't have a class on gargoyles.

* * *

 

"Tears are for the craven. Prayers are for the clown.

 Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a crown.

As my loss is grievous, so my hope is sma—"

There was a knock at the window. Most of the room stopped singing as the reddish-brown gargoyle opened the window and stepped inside. A few who refused to be fazed by the sight, or least refused to admit to being fazed, continued singing.

"So my hope is small,

For Iron, Cold Iron, must be master of men all."

"Sorry to interrupt," Brooklyn said before anyone could start the next verse. "Julie, we need you. Lex is hurt."

She dropped all pretence of not knowing the gargoyles. "Hurt as in needs me to come and give first aid, or hurt as in needs to go to my operating room?"

"I think it might be a good idea if he went to your place, where you'd have your surgical tools," Brooklyn admitted reluctantly.

Julie stood, dug into her blue jeans pocket, pulled out her keys, and tossed them to the gargoyle. "You know where my car's parked? Go get it warmed up. I'll grab my stuff and meet you down there in a minute."

"Be quicker if we fly," Brooklyn said.

"Maybe, but I doubt you could carry me and Lex. Go warm up the car." She headed for her bedroom, then turned for a second. "Just get it started, nothing else. This is no time for another driving lesson."

Brooklyn nodded, too concerned about his rookery-brother to care how much he and Julie were revealing about their relationship.

"If you need to transport a wounded gargoyle, don't put him in Julie's back seat. Take my van," Zack Sinclair offered. "Dan, you got your 'gumball' ?"

"In my car," Det. Dan Napier, NYPD, responded. "But it's only legal if I'm in the car while it's on."

"You drive. You've got paramedic training, you might be able to help Julie." Zack gave Dan his keys. "Take good care of my baby."

"You don't even know Lex," Brooklyn said.

Zack smiled. It was the smile his fiancée hated, the one that made women in five boroughs melt. "You can introduce us later."

Julie came back, jacket on, black bag in hand. "Why are you still here?"

"Change in plans. I'll explain on the way downstairs," Dan said.

"Meet you there." Brooklyn ducked back out the window.

Julie looked around. Kathy was a born-again Christian, and wouldn't miss church for anything less than a broken leg. Ed and Susan had to get home before the babysitter worried. Harold had to work on Sundays. Matt wasn't trustworthy. Karen … Zack's fiancée Karen Jensen didn't have to be up early tomorrow, and she was reliable. "Can you take over as hostess, Karen? I may not be back until breakfast."

She nodded.

"Fine. See you when I see you."

" _Ciao_."

" _Vaya con la Fuerza_."

"Give us all the gory details when you get back."

Juliet Heyes, Th. D., D.V.M., stopped at the door. "Anything that happens will be covered by doctor-patient confidentiality."

* * *

 

With Det. Napier at the wheel, his 'gumball' blazing atop Zack's van, they rushed to Lexington's rescue.

"What happened?" Julie asked.

"We were stopping a  _bodega_  from being robbed, when Lex got two bullets in the wing. I think his arm's broken, and his wing," Brooklyn shook his head, "it's bad, Julie. He can't fly."

"I'll do what I can," the blonde veterinarian promised.

"I tried to call, but your line was busy."

"That was probably when Susan was checking with the babysitter," Dan said. "So, how long have you two known each other? I know you've been eavesdropping on filks for a couple months now."

"Nearly half a year," Brooklyn admitted. He knew Dan Napier was trying to get his mind off Lexington's injury, and he was grateful for the attempt. "We met a few days after she was on TV, standing up for us."

"When you started lurking outside the windows at filks, I thought maybe Julie already knew some gargoyles before she went on TV."

"See what happens when you don't have the brains to have an unlisted number," Julie muttered. "Drop-in company all the time."

Dan asked, "Which way at the corner, left or right?"

"Left," Brooklyn directed him.

* * *

 

Horn honking, light flashing, they reached Spanish Harlem quickly. Dan, Julie, and Brooklyn hurried out of the van and into the  _bodega._

Dan pulled out his badge. "NYPD," he announced.

Lexington, a small green gargoyle, lay on the floor. Broadway, a much larger blue gargoyle hovered over him, watching uneasily as the blood seeped through the makeshift bandage on his rookery-brother's left wing.

"You no arrest him. This gargoyle, he's a hero," the store's owner protested.

"Not planning to arrest anybody, except the ones who did this," Dan assured him.

"Julie!" Broadway exclaimed. "Am I glad you're here."

Julie knelt beside Lexington. "How you feeling, Lex?"

"Hurts," he admitted. The strained look on his face, the frightened expression in his eyes, and the grayish cast to his green skin told her just how much pain he was in -– lots.

"Let me take a look," Julie said gently. She removed the blood-soaked towel covering his wing. She tried to keep her expression neutral as she examined the shattered wing-bone. She didn't want to frighten him, but with two bullet holes through the bone, she didn't know if he'd ever fly again.

"He's lost a lot of blood," Broadway told her. Worry was written on his face with a capital W, and his voice was concerned.

Julie nodded. With all the blood he'd lost, she wasn't even certain if he'd survive. She touched his fingertips. "Can you feel that?"

"Yeah." Lexington's voice was weak.

"Good. No nerve damage." She turned to Dan, Brooklyn, and Broadway. "We need to get him to my OR right away. Find something you can use to carry him to the van. Be very careful of his wing." She placed gauze pads over the two gunshot wounds, and rebandaged them. She rummaged through her black bag, but the only painkiller she could find was a bottle of Tylenol. She grabbed the bottle, thought a second, then released it. She had no idea how Tylenol would react with the medicines in her OR. Safer to let him endure the pain for a little bit than to risk a bad drug interaction. "We're going to have to wait until we get to my clinic before I can give you anything for the pain," she told Lexington. "Hang tough, okay?"

"I'll try."

* * *

 

DeMarcus Foster, the night security guard, unlocked the clinic door and opened it for Julie. "Here you go, Doc."

"Thanks, DeMarcus." She nodded to the tall, slender guard. Both of them watched as Broadway carried Lexington in. Dan and Brooklyn followed. "And maybe this doesn't need to go into your report?" she suggested.

In his best Sgt. Schultz imitation, DeMarcus replied, "I see nothing."

"Thanks."

"Call when you're ready to leave, Doc." The security guard turned to go, ready to return to his rounds.

"This may be an all-nighter," Julie warned him. She led the way into the zoo clinic's combination operating room/lab. "Put him on that table, please." She turned to a coat rack and put on her lab jacket, then went to the sink to scrub her hands.

"What can we do to help?" Brooklyn asked.

"There's a little screen on the side of that table. Read me the numbers," she ordered as she put on her gloves. "First we'll get his weight, then I'll take an X-ray."

Brooklyn snarled at her: "You're wasting time putting him on a scale when Lex could be dying? Er, is hurt," he corrected himself when he realized Lexington was listening.

"I've gotta know his weight to give a proper dosage of painkiller. With hollow bones, I can't make an accurate guess, and an overdose could be more dangerous than bullets." She maneuvered the X-ray machine into position as she spoke. "Hold still, Lex. Just gonna take a picture."

"Our bones are hollow?" Broadway asked. He'd never given any serious consideration to his anatomy … other than his stomach.

Julie nodded. "How else could someone your size fly?" She grabbed a blood pressure cuff from the cupboard. "Dan, do you know how to take blood pressure?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Get the BP for me while I set up an IV." A saline solution couldn't do any harm, she decided, and after the blood loss, Lex certainly needed to get some liquids into him. She had no idea what medications would be safe for him; she'd have to guess.

"Uh, Julie, his wing – I can't take his blood pressure," Dan realized.

Lexington's wing structure was different from his rookery-brothers, more like a flying squirrel's or a bat's. There was no way to get the cuff around his arm.

"Then put it around his leg," she ordered as she began administering a saline solution.

"Uh, that painkiller you mentioned, Julie?" Lexington asked weakly.

"Sorry to make you wait, pal, just trying to decide which medicine is best for you. Vet school didn't have a class on gargoyles." Julie took a good look at the X-ray. She'd need to treat the wing like she would an eagle shot by a poacher, but for medication, it would best to treat him like a chimpanzee that she needed to put under for surgery. Unlocking the medicine cabinet, she prepared a syringe and prayed.

"Is there something we can do?" Broadway asked. "We want to help. He's our rookery-brother."

"Pray," Julie ordered as she gathered her surgical tools. "No, actually, there is something you can do. Dan, you still got that blood pressure cuff?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Check both of them," Julie indicated Brooklyn and Broadway with a jut of her chin. "I need a healthy baseline for comparison."

The room was too quiet. Her boombox was on the counter. She pushed a button, neither remembering nor caring what tape was inside. A second later Clannad's "Legend" album began. Julie took a deep breath, then re-examined the X-ray.

"Julie."

The blonde vet looked up. She walked over to the counter where Dan, Brooklyn, and Broadway were waiting.

"Are you going to be okay with this?" Dan asked. "I know doctors don't normally operate on friends or family."

"I'm going to have to be okay," she replied in a low voice. "There's no point in taking him to another hospital; the doctors at St. Vincent or Mt. Sinai don't know any more about gargoyle physiognomy than I do. And what I know," she continued bitterly, "is absolutely nothing. No idea which drugs are safe and which could cause an allergic reaction. Anyone who's lost as much blood as he has should have a transfusion, but I don't dare give him animal blood, and I don't know if human blood would be safe for him."

"Could we donate blood?" Brooklyn asked.

"Just because you're the same species doesn't mean you're the same blood type. If gargoyles even have blood types." Julie took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. "If a human receives a transfusion from a blood donor of a different type, it can kill them. And I have no idea what blood type Lex is: A, B, he could be T-negative for all I know."

Dan forced a smile. "I doubt he's T-negative, despite the ears."

"This is what I get for being so scrupulous about respecting your privacy. So help me, tomorrow both of you are getting complete physicals."

"Yes, ma'am," Brooklyn murmured. Broadway merely nodded.

She took another deep breath, then another. "I'm as ready as I'm going to be." She turned to Lexington, a smile she didn't feel plastered on her face. "Ready, Lex? Time for the Sorceress of Surgery to work her magic."

"Will I be able to fly again?" Lexington couldn't keep the note of fear out of his voice.

"You'll soar," she promised confidently. And she prayed silently that she wasn't lying through her teeth. She prepared the nitrous oxide. "Do you remember that videotape I lent you?  The Court Jester?"

"Uh-huh," Lexington replied weakly.

"Breathe deeply, and see if you can recite the pellet with the poison bit," she instructed as she administered the nitrous oxide.

"The pellet with the p-poison's in the – the vessel wi' the pestle. The chalice – the ch-chalice…." The small green gargoyle slipped into unconsciousness.

"The chalice from the palace has the brew that is true," she finished for him softly. "Better than counting backwards from ten."

As the soundtrack to Robin of Sherwood played, she set to work, demonstrating a confidence she might not have felt, but which her surgical skills warranted. She set to work on the broken bone. Dan handed her instruments as she called for them. Brooklyn and Broadway watched the monitors, keeping an eye on blood pressure and heart rate. Julie hummed along with Clannad and patched.


	3. If He Were An Eagle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The zoo's veterinary hospital is not the Mayo Clinic. Will Julie's best efforts be enough to save Lexington?

* * *

 

Finally, she stepped away from the operating table.

"Is he going to be all right?" Broadway asked.

Simultaneously, Brooklyn demanded, "How long will he be out?"

"I've done all I can, but he's lost a lot of blood. I wish I dared give him a transfusion." Julie looked at Brooklyn and Broadway. She didn't need to deal with worried relatives with her normal patients. How much should she shelter them? Should she warn them to prepare themselves for the worst, or would it be kinder to give them false hope? Would the hope necessarily be false? "His condition is very serious."

"Why can't you give him a transfusion?" Brooklyn demanded.

"I don't know if your blood is compatible with his. If the blood types don't match, then the transfusion could kill him," she explained.

"As much blood as he's lost, he could die anyway," the red gargoyle retorted. Warrior-trained, he knew all about battle injuries.

Reluctantly, Julie nodded.

"Is there a way you can tell if we're compatible?"

"I can try. But this isn't the Mayo Clinic. My tests won't be exact," she warned.

"Try," Brooklyn ordered. Broadway nodded his agreement.

She quickly took blood samples from all three gargoyles and examined them under a microscrope. After several minutes, she announced, "I don't think it would be safe for you to donate, Brooklyn. There are factors in your blood that aren't in Lexington's. Broadway, it might be safe for you."

Broadway gulped.

Julie gathered her tools. "This will only hurt a teeny bit. Not much more than a mosquito bite. You can handle a mosquito bite, can't you?"

The big blue gargoyle nodded. "I can if it'll help Lex."

She drew a pint, wishing she dared take more. "Dan, there should be some orange juice in the fridge in the next room. Would you get him a cup?"

"Sure." Glad to have something to do, the detective hurried off.

Julie exchanged the saline drip for the pint of blood. She glanced up at the clock, and was shocked to see it was only midnight. It felt much later.

"Broadway, I don't want you flying for at least an hour. Just take it easy for a while, and maybe a snack and another juice in a bit, okay?"

Brooklyn was so worried about Lexington that he didn't even tease Broadway about what an easy time he'd have following doctor's orders to have a snack.

Dan handed her a cup of orange juice. "You look like you need this as much as he does."

"I need a vodka," she retorted. "But I don't dare. I need a clear head to type up my lab notes. I don't trust my spelling in Cherokee sober; no way I'll be able to spell things correctly drunk."

"Cherokee?" Dan and Broadway asked.

"You think I'd risk keeping the lab notes for this in English? Safer to keep it in Cherokee. I want to make sure nobody can read this, not without your permission," she explained.

"That's right, you told me you were part-Indian," Brooklyn remembered.

Julie nodded. "Teeny bit. My great-great-grandfather – the one whose wanted poster is on my living room wall – once rescued an Indian maiden from the cavalry."

Broadway's mouth dropped open. His knowledge of 19th century American history had come from sneaking into theatres and watching westerns; Julie's description sounded completely backwards to him.

"We grew up practically next door to the reservation," she continued, "and everybody who could afford horses had them. I always tagged along with my Dad on his vet visits." She shrugged. "Half the kids I went to school with were Cherokee."

She rechecked the EKG and blood pressure monitors, frowning as she did so.

"Is my blood helping him?" Broadway asked anxiously.

"Too soon to tell."

"But he's gonna be okay, isn't he?" Broadway wanted to be reassured.

Julie said nothing.

Brooklyn stepped toward her and took her hand in his paw. "Just how bad is he?"

Julie took a deep breath. "If he were an eagle, I would have seriously considered putting him down instead of operating."

"Putting him down?" Broadway didn't understand the veterinary euphemism. Brooklyn did, and he inhaled sharply.

"I think he'll survive, but I can't promise. And if he does live, there's a chance Lex may never fly again."

"What?!"

_"_ We won't know for a few days." She sighed. "It's a good thing I keep a change of clothes here. I'll be living here until he's fit to release."

Brooklyn and Broadway exchanged worried glances. The pair hemmed and hawed a moment.

"You've done all you can, Julie," Brooklyn told her. "We'll take him home, tend to him."

"No, you won't."

"But –"

"But nothing. He's my patient, and I haven't discharged him yet. I may be worried – I'm used to working on animals, not people – but darned if I'm quitting on him. He's not fit to move. He stays here," she insisted.

"But come dawn," Broadway began. Then he stopped in mid-sentence, and looked at Brooklyn.

Brooklyn thought a moment. Her hand still in his paw, he led her to the corner of the room and lowered his voice. "What you learn as a doctor is private, right?" He'd learned that from watching television.

She nodded. "Doctor-patient confidentiality is guaranteed by law. Of course, it doesn't normally affect vets, but this is a special case."

"There's something about us I haven't told you," Brooklyn began.

"A few hundred things," Julie retorted.

He looked up into her hazel eyes. "You know we're nocturnal."

She bobbed her head once in agreement.

"We don't just sleep during the day. We turn to stone."

She stared at him. "You what?"

"We turn to stone," Brooklyn repeated. "Usually, a day of stone-sleep will heal most injuries, but this …."

Julie thought a moment. "That will make a difference where he spends the day and make it easier to hide him from my co-workers. But he's not leaving here tonight." She was adamant. "When do you, uh, change back to flesh and blood?"

"At sunset."

"Then come straight here. I'll re-evaluate his condition as soon as he wakes, but he doesn't leave here until I say he's fit," she insisted.

Reluctantly, Brooklyn agreed. "You're the doctor."

 

 

* * *

 

"You did what?" Hudson roared.

"I left Lexington with Julie at her lab," Brooklyn repeated.

"But she'll see in a few hours –"

Brooklyn interrupted, "I already told her." Before the elderly gargoyle could protest again, he continued, "She's a friend, and a healer. We can trust her."

"We had to trust her, Hudson. Lex was too hurt to move. He was hurt worse than stone-sleep could've healed," Broadway explained.

"Aye, but –"

"With Goliath gone, I'm clan-leader," Brooklyn reminded him. "This is how it's going to be."

Hudson inhaled sharply. He'd been clan-leader when Brooklyn and his rookery-brothers had hatched. And now the youngster was pulling rank on him! And he, realized, he was completely justified in doing so. He was Goliath's second-in-command, and he understood this strange new world much better than he did. "Aye, lad. As you say."

* * *

* * *

**Author's Note** :  The sequel to this story, "Sometimes Hollywood Gets It Backwards," has been begun, but will not be posted on-line until it is finished.  There are already too many incomplete stories on the Internet; I don't need to add to that number.

**Author's Note:**

> Filksongs and folksongs quoted in this story:
> 
> 'Carmen Miranda's Ghost is Haunting Space Station 3' by Leslie Fish
> 
> 'Barrett's Privateers' by Stan Rogers
> 
> 'Ladyhawke' by Julia Ecklar
> 
> 'Baby Vampire Boogie' by Harold Groot
> 
> 'Cold Iron' by Rudyard Kipling


End file.
